


Solitary

by rosecake



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Captivity, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Imbalance, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 08:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/pseuds/rosecake
Summary: Orson keeps him in isolation after Lah'mu.





	Solitary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



Orson keeps him in isolation after Lah'mu. It's a punishment, although Orson won't admit as much. Instead, every time he explains it, he makes it sound as if he's doing it for Galen's own good.  He's trying to protect Galen from ISB scrutiny, or he's trying to give him a chance to readjust to normalcy before immersing him in the bustle of the project. But Galen knows it's Orson's way of punishing him.  

He sees Orson sometimes, and when Orson isn't around the only people he sees are the Death Troopers tasked to look after him. And he's not sure the Death Troopers really count as people. He's tried talking to them, out of desperation and loneliness and boredom, and in the months since he was taken from his home none of them have ever said a word in response. Maybe they've been ordered not to speak to him, or maybe they can't speak at all. He wouldn't put it past the Empire to have their tongues cut out in training.   

So in the end it's really just Orson, and sometimes he thinks being with Orson is even worse than being alone.  

Today Orson brings him food, the tray balanced on one hand as he opens the door to Galen's cell. It's been a while since the last time he came by. Over a week, probably, although it's hard for Galen to tell. There's no way to keep track of time in his cell, and his internal clock has always been unreliable. Galen's been wondering where he was. It's not that he cares, it's just that he has nothing else to think about all day.   

"Good Morning, Galen," he says. Galen had thought it was night, and he's not sure if it's another sign that he's completely lost track of time or if it's just Orson needling him. "I've brought you breakfast." 

"I'm not hungry."

Orson sets the tray down on the small table in front of him. "Come on, Galen. There's no need to be difficult."

Galen frowns. He isn't being difficult, he just isn't hungry. He can't remember the last time he actually wanted to eat anything, but he takes a piece of toast anyway, because he realized a while ago that compliance was easier than defiance. Earlier on in his captivity the satisfaction of disobedience had outweighed the pain that came with it, but Orson has worn him down, and now he's too tired to struggle.

"Thank you. I always worry you aren't eating enough," says Orson, in that breezy casual manner he has whenever he isn't angry, like he isn't keeping Galen in a cell against his will. Like they're still friends somehow, even after he set fire to everything Galen ever loved. He can feel the anger coiling up in his stomach, as useless as it is.  

"Have you had any luck finding Jyn?" he asks, because he knows it still eats at Orson that he let her slip through his grasp. Bringing it up hurts Galen too, but it's still satisfying to see Orson's expression harden.  

"No," says Orson, his voice flat. Galen assumes this at least must be true, because he's sure if Orson had any knowledge of her whereabouts he'd have used it against Galen by now.  

Galen tears the toast in his hand to pieces in lieu of actually eating it and doesn't bother responding. Orson will fill in the silence soon enough.

"Have you gone over the files I left you?" asks Orson.

And that's what the conversation always circles back to in the end. The reason Orson spent years hunting down Galen and his family. There aren't any computers or pads in Galen's cell, but Orson has given him stacks of flimsi and paper covered in calculations and blueprints for something monstrous. 

"No," says Galen.

And he wishes he were telling the truth, that he really hasn't looked at them, but there hasn't been anything else for him to do for weeks on end. Maybe months. His handle on time really is awful. He shouldn't have looked at it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him, and now he regrets it, because he can see how it should all fit together so easily. He'd tried to put all thoughts of kyber behind him on Lah'mu, but he'd never quite managed it. He never wrote anything down, of course, but the mystery of it had haunted him, working itself out in the back of his mind and in his sleep. And it's worse now, because the awful truth is that Orson's weapon is actually much easier problem than Galen's energy project. There's no need to figure out how to slow the energy down, how to channel it through a power grid without blowing the whole thing to pieces. There's no need to figure out a way to rein in the destructive power of the crystals when destruction is the whole point.   

The whole thing is so horrifyingly simple. The only thing Galen can't figure out is how they haven't realized it yet, why Orson thinks he still needs Galen. He doesn't need Galen. He needs a handful of graduate students at most. He's so close. 

Orson reaches out for him, fingers dragging gently along Galen's chin for a moment to get his attention before he forcefully turns Galen's head to face him. "I don't believe you."  

Galen looks at him, really looks at him for the first time in a while. He's smiling, cold and predatory, and Galen's not sure how he was ever fooled into thinking that Orson Krennic could be kind. "Krennic, I haven't," says Galen, and he hates that his voice wavers. It's painfully obvious that he's lying.        

"That's fine, I can wait," says Orson, and he lets go of Galen's chin.  "It's not like you'll be going anywhere." 

Galen turns away the second Orson lets go of him. Orson leaves a moment later, but the feeling of his hand on Galen's face lingers even after he's gone. Galen rubs a hand over his skin, trying to get rid of the sensation, but it's not enough to stop the shudder that runs through him.   

It's been months since somebody last touched him.  

 

\---

Galen sits alone in his cell and remembers a time when he was so sure his imprisonment on Vallt was going to be a low point in his life. Now he finds himself missing it. At least he'd been able to keep his head straight then. At least he'd had a window. He'd known where he was, and he'd known where his family was. Right now he has nothing. A bed, a fresher, a table covered in plans for a project he doesn't want to think about. With no windows and none of his jailers willing to talk to him he has no idea where he even is. For all he knows he could be on a ship, or sequestered away on some backwater planet in the Outer Rim, or even in the dead center of Imperial City.  

There's nothing to anchor himself to. No constant but Orson and all his mad plans.  

He'd gone over those plans in detail over the past few days. The replacement team of scientists Orson had put together while he was gone has made so much progress. Slowly, and with some breathtakingly stupid turns along the way, but progress is progress, and they are very close to the answers they want. 

He thinks they're closer than they realize, and he's not sure what to do with that information. He's not sure if there's anything that can be done, not now. 

But the next times Orson stops by to ask if he's finally looked at the data he's been given, Galen says yes.  

\---

 

The room Orson moves him to is larger than the last one. There's a proper desk, and even a small kitchen, and all in all it would feel more like a loft apartment than a cell if it only had windows. Or a door Galen could open from the inside.  

Galen does his best not to think about it. Orson's given him more information to look at, and it's a lot to sort through, and he still hasn't figured out what he's going to do with it all once he gets things straightened out in his head. And as much as the idea of the weapon horrifies him, it's far easier to pass the time working than it is to lie in bed for hours on end and think about how he's trapped. Or how he isn't even sure if his only child is alive or dead.  

Orson visits him more often, and now it's only ever Orson. Galen hasn't seen any of the Death Troopers since he switched cells. 

It's insulting how safe Orson feels around him. He steps into Galen's personal space and Galen automatically takes a step back, the back of his legs bumping into the edge of his desk. Orson reaches past him for a file on the desk, brushing up against him the process, and they're so close and they're alone and Galen can't help but think, not for the first time, how easy it would be to murder him. Orson is vicious and he's fast but Galen is still bigger than him, even if not by very much. And it's not hard to summon up the motivation when he thinks of everything Orson has done to him.  

Sometimes he's ashamed of the fact that he's never so much as tried. But it would be a violent and messy fight, and doesn't think he could bring himself to finish it. The thought of killing another person makes him sick. Even just wanting to makes him sick. Every day Galen can feel himself changing, and he's not sure how to stop it. 

"This is the main problem we've been having," says Orson, and he's pointing at the array, Galen doesn't even have to look to know. He's already figured out the problem. He's been paying closer attention than he'd meant to. 

"Are you feeling well?" he asks, leaning in even closer when he realizes Galen isn't focused on display. He always smells the same, the same soap, the same cologne, and Galen inhales sharply when he realizes he's noticed. "You seem a bit off."

Galen has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He hasn't been right in ages and Orson knows it. Orson's the damn reason for it. "I'm fine," he says.

"Are you sure?" asks Orson.

He leans in even closer, letting his hand rest on Galen's shoulder, and Galen shudders at the touch. He pushes Orson's hand away and backs up, right into the wall.

"You're doing this on purpose," he says, and he regrets it instantly. It'll just rile him up. 

"Doing what?" asks Orson, a small, satisfied smile playing across his face before his expression slips back into overwrought concern, his bright blue eyes locked right on Galen.

Galen looks down immediately, desperate to escape the eye contact, and tries to think of something to say to disengage himself from the situation. He waits too long, though, and Orson raises a gloved hand to gently push a stray strand of his hair back behind his ear. Galen shudders at the touch, light as it is, and there's a traitorous part of him that wishes Orson weren't wearing gloves.

"Please," says Galen. "Leave me alone." 

"Galen," says Orson, gently chiding him. "You shouldn't isolate yourself like this. It isn't good for you." 

He might have no more heart in him than one of his Death Troopers, but he's solid and warm as he presses Galen to the wall, and it's more than Galen's had in what feels like years.  

"Krennic," says Galen, a touch of a pathetic whine in his voice, and that's fine. That's how Orson wants him, isn't it?  Pathetic. He'll probably end up on his knees before the night is over.  

Orson's mouth is so warm, and Galen melts into the kiss without meaning to. All the things he's tried to forget, to disavow, come back to him. How much he really did use to love him. Galen reaches out for Orson's hands, pulling at the leather, sliding his fingers below the cuff to pull a glove off, and Orson helps him out by taking off the other one himself before moving to kiss him again.

Orson's bare hands slide up under his shirt, along his sides, and Galen moans, ashamed of how good it feels. He lifts his arms so Orson can take his shirt off, so he can feel more of him. And it only feels even better when Orson slips his hand below the waistband of Galen's pants and palms his cock, fingers dragging along the length of him, leaving him hard. He wishes he could at the very least hide how badly he wants to be touched from Orson, even if he can't hide it from himself. 

"Turn around," says Orson, and Galen does as he's told, turns around and leans against the wall as Orson bends over him, the rough fabric of his uniform rubbing along Galen's back, pressing so hard against him that the metal of his rank insignia digs into his skin. Orson shoves the band of his pants down further, his other hand still wrapped tightly around Galen's cock, stroking him from base to head.

It's too much. It's too much pressure too fast. "Wait," says Galen, and Orson only hums against his shoulder and moves his hand faster.

Galen curses as he comes, spilling over Orson's hand. Orson leaves his hand firmly wrapped around Galen's cock, rubbing his thumb over the head as Galen shakes. Galen shifts, and he can feel Orson's own erection pressing into him.  

"Orson," he says, his voice hoarse, shame at how pathetically needy he'd been rising up in him, and Orson finally lets go of him.

"It's fine," he says, sounding absolutely satisfied with himself. "Get on the bed."

This time, Galen doesn't do as he's told immediately. "Orson, please, wait a minute-"

He cuts himself off as Orson bites into his neck. Gently, but still hard enough to set shudders though Galen again. There isn't any point in begging. Orson will get what he wants sooner or later. When Orson pulls away, Galen finishes pulling his pants off and walks to the bed. He lies down on his stomach, his still sensitive cock pressing into the sheets, and watches out of the corner of his eyes as Orson undresses.

Orson has a small bottle of oil in his hand as he walks over, and Galen shuts his eyes, trying not to wonder how long he's had it with him, how long he's been looking forward to this. Had he just been waiting for Galen to break like this the whole time? Galen hopes he's at least made him wait longer than he'd expected.

Galen bites into his pillow as Orson lets the oil pool in the small of his back, then drags his fingers through it to trace the slickness down the rest of the way to Galen's hole. It's needlessly vulgar, just what Galen has come to expect from him, and he expects Orson to finger him a while, to tease him, to drag it out, and he can't hold the moan in as Orson presses his cock against his entrance almost immediately.

"Galen," he says, low and possessive, and Galen almost misses it as he cries out when Orson thrusts all the way into him.

"Shhhh," he says, soothingly, raising his hand to cover Galen's mouth as he moans, as if they were still students in the dorms, trying to be quiet so their neighbors wouldn't get upset. "You're fine," he says, his mouth pressed to Galen's neck, his free hand stoking Galen's bicep as Galen tries desperately to relax around him.

He only gives him a few seconds before he moves his hips, thrusting into him, and Galen moans again, and tries to tell himself that it's all from pain, but it's not. It feels so good, having Orson inside him again, even though it hurts at the same time, and he can't even get it straight in his own head how he's supposed to feel about it. So he lets himself go blank.

He can feel Orson coming by the ways he goes tense, and then the pulsing of his cock as he slows, giving up on thrusting to stay buried in Galen as he rides out his orgasm. Galen's half hard again already, and he hopes he'll be able to hid it, but he's not sure he will.

"Galen," says Orson, again, rolling him over, piercing him with those eyes, and Galen doesn't know how he's ever going to hide anything from him.  

He just knows he's going to have to figure it out. 


End file.
